


A Burst Vein: Five Times Will Graham Doesn't Make Eye Contact, and One Time He Does

by Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Access Intimacy, Autistic Character, Autistic Will Graham, Gen, Peter Bernadone/Will Graham, for the sake of having it findable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:01:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3897304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep/pseuds/Soundingonlyatnightasyousleep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it sounds like. Will Graham has his own idea of eye contact as intimacy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Burst Vein: Five Times Will Graham Doesn't Make Eye Contact, and One Time He Does

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [who we've always been](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591090) by [venndaai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/venndaai/pseuds/venndaai). 



> Although this is gen, Hannibal/Will, Alana/Will, and Peter/Will are all implied. 
> 
> Warnings for mentions of gore, violence, body horror, and institutionalization.

**1.**

He avoids her eyes not because they would make him uncomfortable, but because they wouldn’t. One of the only kinds of gazes he is intimately familiar with is the wide, blanking eyes of the dying that float thickly in his psyche, unbidden. To be familiar to her when her father slumps crumpled in the corner seems unbearable.

It is a relief, then, to roll away when he feels Dr. Lecter’s practiced hands push his own scrabbling fingers aside from her throat. The man exudes a pure, blank column of calm.

Will chokes on the love hazing the air of the kitchen, and hates himself.

—  

**2.**

Katz always stands a bit too close.

“Hey,” she says, “Are you going to the range after we’re done taking a first, uh, look?”

Will snorts. The body they had hauled back to the lab has a truly absurd number of eyeballs lodged into the abdomen. They glisten wetly from behind the sheet of plastic wrap the killer had used to hold them in. “Murder with the usual household items: plastic wrap, some staples, eyeballs, more eyeballs,” Price had quipped.

It was refreshing, actually, to see a killer’s design and not understand it. Oh, he could know and feel the smothering velvety intimacy the killer had poured their heart into longing for, but some part of him could not comprehend _why the hell anyone would want to do something involving that many eyeballs_.

“Will?”

He giggles faintly.

“Will?” Katz’s hair moves past the sharp line of her jaw as she tilts her head with the lilt of the question

“Why? Why would you want to be up to your eyeballs…in eyeballs?” he whispers in answer, finally.

Thankfully, she giggles too. Her mouth is kind of crooked when she has expressions. She is still standing too close. Will can see a light pit in her olive skin.

“The range?” she presses, helpfully cocking the little gun-shapes she makes with her fingers. Her teeth flash as she does. “I think Alana Bloom might be free. Or not,” she amends when Will’s face does something in response to that.

“No,” he says. And then, “We could go to lunch though."

She beams. “Yeah. I know a pretty good place for some…eyes-scream."

It takes Will a moment to process the stretch of the words. His face does something that is definitely a smile

Beverly Katz always stands too close, but she never ever moves to catch him when he flinches, and for that he can let her stay near while he almost relaxes again.

—  

**3.**

He wants nothing more than to look at her.

Alana’s pursed mouth and lean forward are all born of pity, he knows, that he has been trapped inside a literal cage. He wants to scream, wants to stutter out the _You let them, you let them take me_ that beats beneath his skin whenever he sees her. Abandonment requires expectation, but hurt has never needed a seed to bloom out of thin air.

She is still not afraid of this him who is a killer, which seems profoundly unfair. He has always trembled at her. “I want to save you,” she murmurs. He has always, always been a little bit afraid of her.

Right now, he wants nothing more than to look at her, to let his eyes twitch over her and drink in the saturated life of her chin-flank-arm from across the table, but she murmurs “I want to save you,” and Will never wants her to look at him again.

—

**4.**

Will looks directly at Chilton’s forehead as he purrs out, “I will be under your exclusive care.” He wonders if this buzzing underneath his skin means that he likes it.

 —

**5.**

Tardive dyskinesia, maybe, the way Peter Bernadone blinks and twitches. Or maybe effects of TBI. Will would have to know what caused the onset of his symptoms. The way he looks, he’s probably been quieted with neuroleptics before.

Peter takes things with his fingertips stretched away from him, keeping others away from his body. He glances at the picture Will gives him, pants.

He is the only person who hasn’t even tried to look at Will since he got out.

“Peter’s abilities to look and touch can only happen as separate events,” he offers to Jack when Peter still doesn’t say anything. And maybe his ability to think is an event all its own, but Will keeps that to himself. Atypical motor response. Atypical cognitive response.

“Worried about the bird,” Peter says, “I’m sad for her death, sad for the horse, but I-I can only help the bird,” and Will’s chest briefly squeezes in an urge to lay his head in Peter’s lap and close his eyes.

—

**\+ 1**

Hannibal is calm, so calm. For once, Will is too. The snow is soft at their feet like it has always been there.

He had expected to be vicious in seeing Hannibal with ropes at his throat. He wonders what it means that he isn’t.

“No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them,” Hannibal says, and Will signals for the stag to start hauling.

The creak of pulleys. “I love you, Will.” He wants to feel Hannibal's blood hot on his skin. He wants to whistle the stag back, feel his skin and fat and muscle shift around its horns as it drives into his belly. He wants. He wonders what it means that he wants.

More than anything, this feels inevitable.

Blood spurts, but Hannibal’s eyes remain velvet-heavy with love as Will looks into straight into them.

**Author's Note:**

> So basically, as an autistic person, I am deeply confused at the fic trope where Will making eye contact is any kind of good thing. Canonically, it happens when he's trying to manipulate people, and it is terrifying. 
> 
> The Peter/Will is totally inspired by persiflet's who we've always been. Access intimacy ships are best ships.


End file.
